


A Stranger to the Ground, I am Home

by vvarp-core (bossassbirch)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mission Fic, Oneshot, Wingfic, aromantic asexual spock, background bones, preslash, queerplatonic spirk, vulcans have wings au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossassbirch/pseuds/vvarp-core
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time Jim Kirk sees a Vulcan's wings is through a vidscreen. He is eleven years old, and he is in awe. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>AU in which all Vulcans (and Romulans) have wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stranger to the Ground, I am Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, hey. I guess this is the part where I tell you that this is the first fanfiction I've written since I was 13. I'm just getting back into this game, and I'm excited, but I'm also terrified to post this. 
> 
> The title is taken from a book called Stranger to the Ground by Richard Bach. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as vvarp-core.

     The first time Jim Kirk sees a Vulcan's wings is through a vidscreen. He is eleven years old, and he is in awe. 

     " _In-air racing_ ," Jim hears over the sounds of his mother cooking dinner, _"has been an official Olympic sport since the late 2060's, when humanity offered their Vulcan allies a chance to compete in the Olympic games. Today, the Vulcans are joined by a number of other winged species, including-"_  

     Jim ignores the announcer, choosing instead to focus on the Vulcan currently occupying the screen. He is stretching, focused, muscles rippling under his dark skin and tight uniform. Jim watches in amazement as he slowly, methodically unfurls his massive, jet-black wings. His feathers are tightly arranged and glossy, the color of a crow's, but the shape of his wings is reminiscent of a bird of prey. 

     Jim is awestruck, unable to move his eyes from the screen. He knew about Vulcans and their wings of course, everyone does, but there's a difference between knowing a thing exists and seeing it for the first time in all its glory. Awe mingles with jealousy as the race begins and the various winged competitors take off. Jim has wanted to fly his whole life, to take to the sky and then the stars, and he wishes for wings to carry him. The dark skinned Vulcan wins the race.  (Many species compete in winged events, but Vulcans always win speed-based competitions. They evolved as apex predators, and years of veganism have not changed their lean builds and deadly accuracy.)

     Jim knows, as he watches the man cross the finish line, that humans don't have wings, and the chances of a kid from Iowa being the first human to sprout wings are nonexistent. Still, Jim also knows without a doubt that to have wings, to take to the sky and leave Iowa far behind him, is all he wants in the universe.

* * *

     When Jim first meets Spock, he is intrigued, but not overly so. He is more interested in reconnecting with Gary, his old friend. It isn't until later, sitting on the bridge, that Jim finds himself staring over at Spock's back. His bare, blue-clad back. His silhouette is easy enough to make out through the thin material of his uniform- he has some muscle but is mostly lean, a runner's physique. There is nothing to suggest that wings are hidden under his uniform. 

     If Jim is shocked, he doesn't show it. There's no point in embarrassing a crew member in front of the entire bridge, Jim reasons, especially a crew member as shy and private as Lieutenant-Commander Spock. Besides, this is only Jim's first week as Captain of the Enterprise. He doesn't want the crews first impression of him to be an intrusive asshole. That night, after finishing his paperwork for the week, Jim pulls up Spock's record and looks for anything that might suggest he somehow lost his wings in an accident or some medical reason, but finds nothing. _Fine,_ Jim sets his PADD down with a huff. _I've got five years on this ship. Spock's third in command, so I'll be getting to know him soon enough. If he trusts me enough to share, he will. If not, I'll just have to live with it._

     Later, when Jim learns that Spock is half human, he assumes he hasn't inherited his father’s wings. Jim feels a rush of pity for the half-Vulcan. Despite their preachings of tolerance, even Vulcan must have bigots. Not having wings must've earned him a great deal of discrimination, living on a planet where all the architecture favored flying inhabitants. 

* * *

     Jim doesn't think much about Spock's non-existent wings for the first year of his captaincy. In the meantime, his relationship with Spock begins to develop, their chess games becoming more and more frequent. Jim finds himself seeking Spock's advice even over Bones', relying on him for counsel on everything from what to choose for breakfast to how to handle a particularly annoying admiral. Somehow, without Jim realizing it, Spock has become a constant in Jim's life, a cornerstone without which Jim's life (or at least his happiness, his command, his sanity) would come crumbling down.

     Jim wonders how he came to rely so much on his XO as he goes for his morning run, a few hours before alpha shift. He normally uses the treadmills in the ship's gym, but has today elected to try the running track that loops around the circumference of the saucer section. 

     Jim is pulled sharply from his thoughts as he notices a massive shadow looming over him and quickly outpacing him. He looks up, startled, to see Spock flying above him. Jim gapes, so busy looking up that he doesn’t even notice as he nearly collides with an unsuspecting crewman. Even a slow Vulcan could easily overtake a jogging human, but Spock is gliding at only a fraction of his full speed, keeping pace with Jim roughly fifty feet ahead of him. He slows even further as he descends gently onto the running track, snapping his wings tight to his back as he hits the ground at a jog. 

     Jim increases his pace to bridge the gap between them. "Spock?" Jim is still aghast, unable to comprehend what he just saw. 

     "Good morning, Captain," Spock's wings are now tightly folded against his back as he effortlessly matches Jim's pace. "I was under the impression that you normally utilized the treadmills at this time. What lead you to change your routine today?"

     Jim only hears part of the sentence. "I- Wait. What? Since when do you have _wings?_ " 

     Spock raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable to the untrained eye. Jim instantly recognizes this particular eyebrow quirk to mean something along the lines of _"What the hell are you talking about, you ridiculous human?"_ Spock, for what felt like the dozenth time this morning, interrupts Jim's train of thought. "All Vulcans are born with wings, Captain. Surely you know this?"

     "Well, yes, obviously," Jim feels a blush growing in his cheeks, "but I've never seen them through your uniform, and I know you're half human, so I always just sort of assumed you didn't have any."

     Spock's expression changes to something even Jim can't read. "I wear a compression shirt under my uniform to keep them from stretching the outer shirt.  Even without it, they fold up tightly enough that my silhouette is similar to that of a human."

     "But that can't be comfortable! They must get sore, tensed up for hours on end like that."

     "As you just saw, my wingspan is over thirteen feet. Even loosely folded, they would be an obstruction on the bridge or in the labs. I find that the hindrance they would cause far outweighs any discomfort I may feel. Besides, I find that they tend to unnerve humans and members of other non-winged species, or at the very least lead to unnecessary questioning."

     Jim could take a hint. "Alright, I won't intrude on the limited time you have to stretch your wings. I'll see you on the bridge in an hour or so."

     With that, Spock sprints forward and snaps out his wings flapping once, twice, three times as he ascends. He increases his pace and shoots forward, rocketing out of Jim's view. _Show off,_ Jim chuckles to himself, still flabbergasted. 

* * *

     The next time they meet to play chess, Jim enters Spock's quarters to find him wearing a loose navy tunic, Vulcan in design, with long slits down the back to allow Spock's wings to hang, loosely folded, behind him. 

     "Good evening, Mister Spock." Jim silently decides to let Spock take the lead here; he has never openly exposed his wings in this context before, so he must have a reason this time. 

     "Captain." Spock wastes no time beating around the bush. "I have given your words earlier this week some thought. If you believed me to be wingless for so long, seeing me fly that day must have come as a surprise to you."

     "That's a bit of an understatement," Jim laughed. 

     "It occurred to me that you might want to see them up close, now that you are aware of their existence." Spock is tense, awkward, but his meaning is clear. _I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry._

     Spock's wings are beautiful, jet black and glossy, and Jim wants nothing more than to touch them, to feel the feathers part between his fingers. "I thought you didn't like showing off your wings," Jim offers his most charming smile, doing his best to put Spock at ease. "Something about humans and awkward questions?"

     Spock answers back in his rare not-smile, his eyes glinting with humor and something Jim doesn't recognize. "I've found you to be the exception to many beliefs I once held about humans."

     And that's- oh. That could mean something else entirely. Jim is at a loss. Spock has a tendency to that to him these days. Jim finds himself reaching out to run his hand over Spock's feathers, but he stops himself short. Vulcans are touch telepaths, and their wings are particularly sensitive. The moment is already so open to interpretation, and Jim is terrified of overstepping himself. He tries at humor, changing the subject. "I have a tendency to defy expectations. Have I ever told you about how I cheated on the Kobayashi Maru?"

     Later that evening, Jim tries once more to broach the subject of Spock's wings. "Surely it must be more comfortable for you to leave them loose like this, not bound to your back?"

     Spock stiffens slightly, unnerved and almost offended by the notion of his comfort mattering even the slightest. "I already explained my reasoning on why I must constrict my wings when on duty."

     Jim won't budge. "I don't just mean on the bridge. You could wear them loose on away missions-" Jim doesn't give Spock the chance to cut in- "It's not just about your comfort. An eye in the sky could give us a serious tactical advantage in almost any situation, and you can cover more ground faster than anyone on foot."

     Spock says nothing, considering this. 

     "No matter what," Jim adds on, "I don't want you making yourself uncomfortable for my sake. When it’s just us, like tonight, feel free to do whatever you want with your wings. I won't even mention it, if you don't want me to."

* * *

     Two years after Jim first saw Spock's wings, he finds himself staring over them once again. They are nowhere near the spectacle they once were, covered with dust and a slight smattering of green blood. Spock's left wing is broken in three places ("Damned hobgoblin, how the hell am I supposed to know what to do with these?"), and his right arm is in a splint while the bone knitter does its long work. Even once it's done, he'll need to wear a sling; the muscle will take longer to heal. When they finally found Spock, the planet's natives had already cut him severely in multiple places, never-mind the broken bones. The aliens would be lucky if they avoided being charged with war crimes, and their chances of entering the Federation would be nonexistent, Jim would make sure of it. 

     As he watches Spock breathe, laying on his side to take pressure off of his injured wing, Jim realizes what he has to do. 

     The next day, after Spock regains consciousness, Jim sits in front of him, armed with as much knowledge as he could absorb in a night. He had spent the night reading page after page of ornithology and xenobiology texts, as well as what he could find on Vulcan culture beyond the basics. Jim knew he was walking a thin line, but he held tight to his conviction. He had tried letting Spock take the lead; now he had to be assertive, for both their sakes. 

     "Spock," he begins, "I want you to listen to me before you say anything, okay?  I know how much pride you take in your wings, so don't bother denying it. I know that with your arm in a sling you won’t be able to reach to preen them properly." Jim took a breath.  He was getting to the tricky bit. "I also know that among Vulcans, it's often seen as a gesture of trust and respect to preen family members or close friends.  I know that I'm not a Vulcan and I have no experience-"

     "Yes." Spock cut Jim off. 

     "What? But I wasn't even finished!"

     "Jim, there is no one else I would trust with this. My wings are yours."

 _That was easier than expected,_ Jim thinks as he positions himself on the biobed, sitting behind Spock. He began with the injured wing, gently guiding Spock to unfold it. Doing his best to project the admiration and affection he feels for Spock through the touch, he begins by removing the irreparably damaged feathers in the area. Refusing to be defeated by awkward silence, Jim dives into conversation, and Spock quickly joins him.  They talk about everything under the sun, as if this were just a normal chess game and Jim isn't wrist deep in Spock's feathers doing everything he can to keep his fury at the aliens who hurt Spock from reaching the mental link formed by their touch. Leaving the room briefly to fetch a washcloth and a bowl of warm water, Jim begins to gently clean the dirt and blood from Spock's wings as they discuss the Romulans' most recent political actions. 

     Once Spock's wings had dried, Jim began to preen them properly, starting at the joints and working his way down the grain of the feathers. _Thank you for trusting me with this,_ he thinks, hoping Spock can understand it. Somehow, he imagines he can. 

* * *

     The mission was supposed to be routine diplomacy, meeting with a newly discovered post-warp civilization looking to join the federation, so Jim is surprised when the shit hits the fan.  After a long debate between the senior officers, the decision was made that the away team would honor the Gryrian natives’ request and beam down unarmed. (Because if they could trust the Gryrians enough to offer them a place in the federation, they could trust them enough to walk through their capital city without phasers, right?) 

     Gryria is a mostly Mediterranean world, with roughly half of the surface covered by water.  The capital city, Iudrone, is located in a particularly mountainous region near the planet’s equation.  The buildings are slate gray, and most are built into the sides of cliff faces with bridges and open walkways connecting them. 

     Jim, Spock, and ensigns Richards and Kelso are following their Gryrian guide down a particularly narrow set of spiraling stone stairs when the first of the bombs goes off, shrapnel tearing through Richards and the guide instantly.  “Move!” Jim barks, as the remaining three men hurl themselves forward, taking the steps two or three at a time.  Jim can hear screams and the sounds of phaser fire ripping through the crowd as he flips open his communicator, trying to keep his voice steady while sprinting, “Kirk to bridge.  Three for immediate emergency beam out,” but all he gets in response is static.  “Dammit!”

     Spock twists the dial on his communicator, searching for a signal.  “They must be blocking our communications with the ship,” he calls out over the sounds of chaos, changing his course to head sharply to the left.  “If we loop eastward towards the central marketplace, we can blend in amongst the crowd.” 

     Jim nods.  “Good plan.  We’ll head east, keeping to the back alleys where they can’t find us.”

     Jim’s attention is still focused ahead of him when Kelso grabs his arm.  “Captain, look-” Kelso is cut off by a phaser blast to the torso.  Looking up abruptly, Jim sees what Kelso was trying to warn him about.  Three Gryrians have come out from behind a building in front of him, all of them armed.

     “Gryria will never be slaves to your federation!” One of them shouts, but Jim barely registers the sound before Spock has grabbed his left arm and taken off between two buildings on the left, dragging Jim behind him. 

     “We can’t run forever,” Jim pants to Spock as he grabs a nearby crate and flings it with all his strength behind him, hoping to create an obstacle for their pursuers.  Jim is unhappy to be proven right seconds later, when they round a corner and find themselves facing the edge of a cliff in front of them and half a dozen armed Gryrian separatists behind them.

     Jim turns to face their attackers as Spock does the same, stepping forward to position himself slightly in front of Jim.  “Look, gentlemen,” Jim begins, hands up and ready to give one hell of a speech to convince the rebels that yes, the federation is a good thing for their people, but before he can finish his sentence one of the rebels (one of the youngest ones, Jim guesses) opens fire at the two Starfleet officers.  At first Jim is relieved to see the shot goes low, missing both him and Spock, but his relief changes to horror as he realizes that the shot wasn’t missed at all, and the rock beneath him is crumbling away until suddenly Jim is falling through the air.

     When confronted with imminent death, Jim’s first thought isn’t of his ship or his mother or his friends or anything so dramatic.  The only thing going through his mind is simply “ _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck”_ before he feels strong arms wrap around him and the speed of his descent slow rapidly until he’s no longer falling but gliding horizontally, close enough to the cliff to be concealed from view.  When he looks up, he realizes that the arms belong to Spock, who has controlled their descent and is now putting on speed to put as much distance between them and Iudrone as possible.  Jim closes his eyes and relaxes in Spock’s arms, pressed against Spock’s chest, as he attempts to calm his breathing.  When they finally land, he checks his communicator and realizes that they’re out of range of the scrambler. 

     Back on the ship that night, after finishing the metric ton of reports required by such a mess of a mission, Jim paces his quarters, still buzzing with the adrenaline of a near death experience.  He thought when he first joined the federation that he would eventually come to terms with almost dying once a week, but the fear and later elation at having survived never seemed to fade. 

     Jim is shocked out of his reverie when Spock enters through their shared bathroom, chess set in hand.  He’s wearing a black undershirt with his wings hanging loosely behind him, and his hair is slightly damp from the showers.  Noticing the look of surprise on the captain’s face, Spock’s eyebrows furrow, the slightest change of expression.  “It was my understanding that we were scheduled for another match tonight.  If you wish to reschedule due to the events of today’s away mission, I understand completely.” 

     “No, no,” the last thing Jim wants is for Spock to leave right now. “Sorry.  You just startled me is all.” 

     Spock isn’t one to give up easily.  “You seem distracted.  Are you sure nothing else is bothering you?”

     Jim looks down, smiling slightly, trying to convey that yes, he’s fine.  “I thought I was going to die today.  I almost die all the time, it’s part of the job, but falling a couple hundred feet in a couple seconds is still a major fear trigger in non-winged species.  I’m just a little wired; I’ll be fine after I get some sleep tonight.”

     Spock takes a step closer.  “Captain-” he stops, unsure of himself.  “Jim.  As long as I am alive, you never have to fear falling.”

     Jim looks up sharply, shocked by such a confession of emotion from his Vulcan first officer.  “Spock.  I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving my life today.”

     “Thanking me is unnecessary.”  Spock’s gaze doesn’t falter as his eyes meet Jim’s.  “My wings are yours.  I am yours.”  Jim puts a hand on Spock’s bicep, hoping to convey trillion things (affection, gratitude, acceptance, love) through the touch.  He doesn’t know what the future holds for them, but in this moment, this confession, this touch is enough. 

* * *

     (When Spock leaves for Gol, he doesn’t leave a note.  All Jim gets is a single jet black feather, the length of Jim’s forearm, left hidden in the folds of Jim’s sheets.  Whether it was left there intentionally or not, Jim isn’t sure.  He recognizes it as what it is- an apology, a forgotten promise.  _My wings were yours.  I was yours._ )


End file.
